


I CRY AND PRAY MON DIEU

by distille



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), Original Work
Genre: Bondage, Church Sex, Crucifixion, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gothic, Hickeys, I was pressured to post this by my idiot friends, No this was totally not a wet dream I had, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Victorian, edwardian, tags are hard okay, vampire themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 22:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distille/pseuds/distille
Summary: TLDR: You wake up and find you're tied to a cross in a church with a sexy, mysterious man in front of you.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 7





	I CRY AND PRAY MON DIEU

**Author's Note:**

> This is raw (literally). I didn't reread this or edit it in any way.

I don’t remember the last thing I did, what day it was– anything.  
When I came to my senses, everything was dark. The only noises I heard were coming from me– I could hardly believe that I was breathing this hard.  
I then realized that the reason why I was breathing so heavily was because I had a cloth bag over my head.  
Alright. Breath in– out– in, out–  
I was not about to have a panic attack right now. Some of you might think that having a panic attack in this situation is rational, or even normal.  
I was not about rationality or being “normal.” In fact, thinking “normally” is being calm enough so that I can try and get out of this situation without being… dead. Bring a punch to my captor’s face. Typical.  
Managing to control my breathing, I tried to move my hands.  
Useless.  
I was bound by something harsh– ropes. And my feet were wrapped around with a cold, metal band. I move my head, aching to stretch my body out in an attempt to feel my surroundings more, but I can’t move. I’m utterly trapped.  
The back of my neck feels wood.  
“Smart girl,” a smooth voice echoes through the room. His footsteps circle around me, observing me as if I were prey to him, a cat. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’m impressed that you managed to calm down your breathing.”  
The panic I managed to suffocate earlier rises in the back of my throat. I swallow, out of fear, and tilt my head up as a– perhaps final– act of defiance.  
If I was going to die, or be tortured, I would keep my dignity.  
“If you’re looking for submission, you’re not going to get it. Release me, now.”  
His footsteps pause. He’s somewhere on my right, I can sense him. My neck hairs stand up when he chuckles.  
His hand touches my hair that’s outside of the cloth bag he put on my bed. He leans in close enough so I can feel his breath coming out of his nostrils. He smells like wood, citrus, and a hint of vanilla. Lips near my ear, fingering twirling my hair, he asks: “Do you really want it to be that easy, darling?” He tuts, clicking his tongue. “Don’t be a bore. Let’s have some fun.”  
He takes off the bag like a magician revealing a rabbit from underneath his hat. I freeze– this is not where I’m expecting to be.  
Across from me is a dark hallway, adorned with gothic swirls. The walls are high arches, underneath are beautiful depictions of daily life forever ingrained within stained glass. If I weren’t in a situation like this, I’d think that this place is hauntingly beautiful.  
Soft candlelight coming from besides me illuminates a– there’s no other word to describe it– handsome man with angular, sharp features. As the fire dances, so does the shadows across his face. It almost seems like he himself is morphing into a different person every time I look away. Sometimes an angelic young man, sometimes an older one with stronger features. He carries an aura of mystery that can’t be replicated, black satin gloves and all. I find myself yearning to touch his red lips, but the rope stops me and I wince from the chafe.  
The corner of the mystery man’s mouth flicks upwards into a smirk and he leans in again, an almost pitiful look on his face. “Hope I don’t break your heart.”  
I can’t help but take in a sharp breath and lean away on instinct. “Break my heart?” I repeat. “You have me– crucified to a cross–“  
“Ah ah ah. Crucification is with nails. I’m not that type of person, I’m kinder. I have you shackled and tied down. There’s a key difference, darling.”  
Frustration builds up in my stomach when the smirk on his face doesn’t disappear. “Nevertheless, you still have me bound to a cross. What exactly do you plan on doing to me, which– involves– fun,” I hiss, “as you said a bit before. Whatever it is, I’m not playing the game.”  
The silence that fills the next couple of seconds leaves me with a feeling of dread. Instead of choosing to look away, I stare at him directly in his eyes. They’re a beautiful color– amber, mixed with hints of purple. Certainly not human, adding onto his near perfect beauty, but yes, I admit to myself. He’s right. I would let him break my heart a million times, and each time I’d go crawling back to him.  
His form flashes before me and his gloved hand is on my neck, pushing me back onto the wooden cross. I whimper when he presses himself against me, but I don’t break eye contact. His eyes are narrowed, staring down at me, his black-brown hair teasing the edges. I feel a rush of adrenaline pump through me. I’m more aware of how one of his legs are in between both of mine, how his fingers flex around the sides of my neck, and how his stomach presses against me. The power assertion is crystal clear.  
His fingers tighten around my neck more, choking me. He uses his thumb to tilt my chin up a bit further. Tongue flickering in between his red lips, he’s staring at mine hungrily. His hands are moving up and down my throat… is he admiring me?  
“It’d be a shame to break something so delicate. I promise I won’t hurt you too much…”  
So much promise behind his words. He hangs his sentence off with a husky voice, and something inside me twitches. My jaw isn’t the only thing that clenches.  
No. There’s no way I’m getting off to this right now.  
When I throw myself against the ropes holding me again, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t take his gaze off of me, and I hate it and love it at the same time. The only logical and sane part of me has escaped my soul.  
When he leans down to kiss me, I don’t pull away.  
He wraps his teeth around my bottom lip and sucks. I return his “favor” by biting his top lip a bit harder. Normally, in situations like this, my hands would be on the sides of his face right now– but obviously, I can’t. He’s in control. Every move he makes, from releasing my neck from his chokehold to pulling my hair into a ponytail, is all calculated. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he loves the effect. He’s getting off on it.  
He releases my bottom lip and forcefully holds down my head to the wooden cross behind me so that he can latch his teeth onto my neck. “Bad girl,” he purrs in the midst of biting, sucking, and kissing my skin. Fire dances across my abdomen; I can’t do anything besides watch him do these things to me.  
And I love it.  
“You look absolutely beautiful right now in front of me, you whore,” he says to me, unbuttoning my shirt. “Absolutely helpless, hmm? Oh, we don’t need that,” he murmurs when he sees the bra covering my breasts. The delicate lace fabric rips loudly in the empty chamber.  
“…sweet music in my ears. Everytime you– moan,” I whimper loudly now; he’s delivering kisses down my collarbone. “Every time you squirm against me,” His hands go to the sides of my ribs when he reaches my breasts.  
His kisses stop.  
“Look at me,” he speaks softly. “Look down at me.”  
He’s now on his knees, looking like he’s praying to me. His hands are on my hips, his chin resting flat against the “v” of my midsection. A little further and he’d be kissing my other lips.  
“You’re a goddess.”  
His fingers slip into the sides of the skirt I’m wearing.  
Nimbly, he slides it down– that, along with the thin panties I’m wearing.  
I clench again when I feel his hot breath on that sensitive part of my skin. Everything about myself is revealed to him; absolutely vulnerable. I’m wearing nothing past my hips, and my breasts are barely covered with the white collared shirt he buttoned down a minute ago.  
“Say you want it.”  
I stop breathing.  
“W-What?” I repeat. Of course I want it. Everything in me wants it. Him. Every part of him.  
“Say it.”  
“Please, fuck me,” I whisper, my voice falling at the edges of my mouth. Every single inch of me is shaking. He looks up at me, in between my thighs, and his amber-purple eyes harden. His chin digs deep into the crack between my thighs and his tongue licks a stripe up my folds, barely touching my clit. “Fuck,” I mouth to empty air. “Fuck,” I mouth again, when he licks back down.  
The world shakes in front of me. The pain from the chafes on my wrists are completely ignored now, my fingers are actually holding onto them for dear life. He repeats the steps from before– up, down, up, down. Not quite reaching my clit yet, but going near enough so that I buck up a little every time he does so.  
Sensually, slowly, he gets closer to my clit– his strokes not broad anymore, but concentrated near it. I plead to him more begging him to finally reach the spot, and almost pass out from relief when he does. Pleasure shakes me from my core, his tongue is flickering up and down my clit, his lips wrapped around my folds. His hands hold my thighs so that I don’t hit him.  
I’m building up. I can feel my orgasm reaching its height. My fingers curl, my back arches, and when I prepare to release, except I can’t.  
He had stopped.  
Somewhere, in the time where my eyes were closed tightly, he had stopped and stood up. I can see the residue of my ruined orgasm on his lips. There are strings of come.  
He wipes it off using a finger, tilts it up to the candlelight, and licks it.  
Turning back to me, a wicked grin on his threatening face, he says: “You taste delicious.”  
“I hate you,” I reply half-heartedly.  
“That’s not very nice, darling.” He unbuckles his belt and concentrates on unbuttoning his shirt. “You don’t get to hog all the pleasure to yourself.”  
He pulls his belt out of his loops, places it on a wooden stool next to the candle-holders, and pushes his trousers to the floor. I can’t help but notice how neatly he folds his clothes. His black trousers went on top of his belt, and then his shirt, and then–  
His underwear.  
The candlelight flame allows me to get glimpses of his figure. Muscular, like a god. Defined, solid, and powerful.  
I weaken more.  
I can’t see anything past his abdomen– I have no idea if he’ll fit.  
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Such a good girl…”  
He stands in front of me, his hands curving and twisting around every part of my body. He squeezes my breasts, pinches my nipples gently, feels my arms, and glides down the curve of my waist. His hand settles there.  
His rough groan makes me wetter. His tip slips into me, and it hurts a bit at first. My walls try and stretch to accommodate his enormous size, and I look up at the church ceiling. “Such a tight pussy… I’m going to stretch you out just fine, darling…”  
My mix of a moan and yell cuts off when he puts the rest of his cock deep inside of me. My jaw drops, and his hand on my waist presses me so hard to him that I’m sure that it’ll leave bruises.  
He doesn’t move for a bit, waiting for me to adjust. Both of our breathes are heavy, rushed, and filled with lust and passion. My walls are clenching, loosening, and clenching again, and every time they do, I can hear him grunt.  
“Move,” I command him.  
His hips draw back and so does his cock. I rub against him, and he rubs against me. He lets out a guttural groan.  
“More,” I beg. “Please, more more more–“  
His other hand returns back to my neck, squeezing the sides to choke me. Fingers force me to look at him in the eye so that he can observe every face of pleasure I’m making. Even his own cheeks are flushed. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead that’s lit up by the light.  
Every move he makes is another wave of pleasure. The rhythm of skin slapping on skin, the wet noises her vagina makes, the small whimpers and groans coaxed out of the two of them is a drug that turns me on more than ever. There’s a deep throbbing in my clit. I want to rub it– I want more pleasure, I want to feel the high–  
“Greedy little girl, huh? Can’t even wait for me–“ Grunt. “To come–“ Another grunt.  
His pace speedens, his eyes flash with either anger or lust (I can’t tell), and he starts hitting the rough spot where I’m in heaven. My body physically can’t take it anymore; I’m drowning in touch. My skin is oversensitive, there are bruises and hickeys that mark the spots where he’s been.  
His hips pound in quick strokes while my pussy squeezes his dick in waves of contractions. I come, and hard. The mystery man looks up at the ceiling while he comes with me. His hips stutter erratically, no longer even thrusts like before. His mouth opens to release a moan, and he mutters the word fuck.  
I finish convulsing around him and he releases my throat, takes his hand off of my waist, and pulls away from me. My chin dips to my neck– I’m exhausted from his brutal sex.  
His fingers spread me open again and he smirks arrogantly.  
“Fucked open again, huh? Look at all this cum inside of you…”  
I watch him collect his clothes off of the stool, put them back on, and adjust himself. His belt makes a soft clink when he’s finished.  
He buttons my white shirt back up again and gives me a small peck on the cheek.  
He blows out the candles. The chamber goes completely black again.  
The last thing I hear from him is his footsteps walking away from me.


End file.
